


Sugar and Cinnamon

by peenwolf (cissues)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Derek in ballet shoes, Derek is a dance instructor, M/M, Stiles is a vegan cook, Stiles is the emotionally constipated one for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 11:37:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1603757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cissues/pseuds/peenwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles gets drunk and performs an accidental B&E.  The guy's pretty cool about it, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar and Cinnamon

**Author's Note:**

> Um I finished this in an evening and I'm pretty tired and I definitely did not edit this so let me know if there are any glaring errors and I'll fix them later.
> 
> I have no idea why Derek is a dance instructor and why Stiles cooks vegan food.
> 
> Also vegan mac 'n' cheese is THE WORST. I imagine Stiles makes it super creamy, though, so it should be okay.
> 
> PS: I got this idea from a prompt on Tumblr. I forget who wrote the prompt and what exactly it said but the idea of "getting drunk and breaking into someone's house" was not my idea.

This was Scott’s apartment, right? Apartment number four? The door was painted red, right? There was only one way to check.

Stiles reaches up, feeling around the top of the door frame for the extra key that Scott always leaves for situations just like this. Stumbling a few times this way or that, Stiles finally locates the key towards the left corner and jams it into the doorknob.

Just a few moments from an actual, real, capital B Blackout, Stiles ignores the weird feeling in his stomach that is telling him that Scott must have reorganized because his livingroom looks different. More minimal. Did he always have that cushy, black leather couch? What happened to the dumpster-dived ratty floral print sofa that they spent weeks shampooing the fleas out of?

Stiles shuts the door behind him quietly before practically falling over the back of the couch and promptly knocking the fuck out.

After what felt like Not Enough Time, Stiles is violently shaken from his sleep. It takes him a few moments to pry his eyes open to notice that he is definitely not in Scott’s apartment and the dude in what looks like a very haphazard martial arts stance is definitely not Scott. His confusion and horror must be obvious because the guy starts lowering his arms. His muscular arms that are completely unobscured by any form of shirt. In fact, the dude barely has pants on, just a pair of black boxer-briefs. His hair is in disarray and his chin is clearly unshaven.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing in my apartment?” He hisses out, eyes narrowed and his body still definitely in defensive mode. Stiles slowly raises his hands in surrender. “Um, sleeping? Sorry, I just coulda sworn this was my buddy, Scott’s apartment. You guys even leave your extra keys in the same spot.” At this he fishes the key from where it’s jabbing him uncomfortably in the ribs. The man quickly snatches it from Stiles’ hands but he looks significantly less freaked out.  
“Scott McCall?” He grumbled, fiddling with the key absently. Stiles nodded, finally pushing himself into a sitting position - far less vulnerable.  
“He’s across the hall. Apartment eleven.” The man flicks his eyes towards the door and Stiles gets the message. He gets up slowly, noticing that he’s missing one of his shoes and also his dignity.  
“Thanks. I’m Stiles, by the way. Scott’s like best friend in the whole world.” He sticks his hand, trying for a polite and sweet smile. The man doesn’t take his hand and definitely doesn’t smile back.  
“Derek. Go away, please.”

Stiles scrambles to leave as quickly as possible because Derek’s anger is melting into exasperation and irritation and Stiles doesn’t want to have to deal with that. Aggressive behaviors, he’s used to after years of dealing with his dad’s douchey, homophobic, racist officers and getting targeted constantly in high school and college, but passive behavior is not something he’s used to and it’s not something he wants to get involved with in any way.

In a second he’s knocking frantically at Scott’s door, hoping through Hell and high waters that his best friend is actually home.

He is, unfortunately.

“Stiles? What are you doing here?” Scott asks from behind the sliver of an opening he allowed. He’s clearly naked.  
“Um I got really drunk last night and accidentally broke into your super hot neighbor’s apartment and he just kicked me out so now I have to come beg you for a ride home?” Stiles supplies, hoping his desperate situation was enough to break Scott into letting him in, at least.

Scott purses his lips, staring intently at Stiles in what Stiles has learned is his “thinking face” before groaning loudly and letting his friend in.

“Just don’t… say anything.” Scott says in a slightly desperate tone, wrapping the blanket around his middle more tightly around him. “Say anything about what?” Stiles asks innocently, though he’s pretty sure what Scott meant.  
As if on queue, the sweetly masculine voice of Isaac Lahey drifts from the hallway. “Scott? Who was it?”  
Scott swallows thickly. “It’s Stiles. He’s here, in the house. In my apartment. Inside. Right next to me.” He calls back. _Several_ surprised voices start squawking and murmuring to each other before Isaac calls back warily, “Should we - should I do anything?”  
At this point, Stiles is laughing silently and Scott has both hands over his face. “No, it’s fine guys. You can come out. Just please put clothes on.”

Isaac Lahey and Allison Argent emerge from the bedroom a few moments later with clothes clearly hurriedly pulled on looking nervous. Stiles smiles sweetly as the two retreat to the kitchen and the smell of coffee drifts throughout the apartment.  
“Can you wait a bit before I take you home?” Scott asks warily, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.  
Stiles just grins and nods, clapping a hand on Scott’s shoulder. “Yeah, it’s cool. Also, just FYI, I’m proud of you for getting one hottie, much less two. Congrats. You guys are super cute. You always have been.”  
Scott smiles shyly and scurries back to his bedroom to get properly dressed.

Isaac makes breakfast eggs, warming up to Stiles after it’s clear that Stiles does not care about his best friend’s sexual exploits.

On the ride home, Stiles explains what happened in more detail and Scott nearly crashes the car from laughing so hard.

“Shut up, man! It was mortifying! I don’t think I’ll ever recover.” Stiles groans from behind his hands. Scott just keeps laughing.  
“Dude, it’s Derek Hale. He’s such a big softie it’s not even funny. Sometimes he smiles at me and calls me brother and make sarcastic remarks about the amount of unmarked packages I get. He’s just skittish and you definitely didn’t meet him on the best terms. Dude, he’s a _dance instructor_. He goes to the neighborhood urban garden every week to weed and water shit for like _hours_. He’s a teddy bear.”

Stiles isn’t really sure what to do with this information. The Derek that he met was throwing up karate chop hands and had toned thighs and the angriest fucking look on his face. His apartment made him look like a meticulous serial killer. He definitely did not give off a teddy bear vibe.

Thoughts of this mysterious semi-stranger stayed on Stiles’ mind for hours after Scott dropped him off and days after that.

It’s a full week and a half after Stiles’ impromptu B&E that finds him in front of Scott’s door clutching at bags of groceries, praying to the high heavens that Derek doesn’t suddenly appear out of nowhere while he was waiting.

Scott throws the door open, thankfully fully dressed, ushering his friend in excitedly.

“I didn’t think you were serious.”

Stiles makes a face.

“Of course I was serious! Who isn’t serious about cookies?”

“You coulda just bought him a card.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, plopping his groceries on Scott’s counter. “Oh yeah, I’ll look for that in the ‘Sorry for Breaking Into Your House’ section of Hallmark, sure.”

Three and a half hours later Stiles has two batches of oatmeal raisin, three batches of chocolate chip, and three batches of snickerdoodle. He wraps an even amount of each type up in a pretty paper bag that he had decorated with a ribbon on top. Scott laughs at him through his mouthful of chocolate chip.

“This might freak him out more than the breaking and entering did.” He says with a spray of cookie dough crumbs. Stiles gives him a suffering look. “It’s charming, and it might give me more than a few minutes of panicked staring to actually like… talk to him.”  
For some reason, he’s nervous for Scott to find out that he’s vaguely sexually slash romantically interested in this dude. Maybe it’s just the slightly insane fantasized interactions with Derek Hale that Stiles is starting to kinda fall for, but nonetheless he has this intense need to actually like, talk to the guy for a second.

However, Stiles finds himself at Derek’s doorstep with his fist raised in preparation for ten minutes before he finally drops his arm, trying desperately to work himself back up into a frenzy.

“You know where my extra key is.” A voice says from behind him and it takes all he has not to flop onto the floor like a fainting goat. Derek Hale is standing behind him in baggy sweatpants and a tight, _tight_ tanktop, clutching a tote in one hand. He’s smiling, though, however small and barely noticeable and it gives Stiles the confidence he didn’t actually have in the first place.  
“Um, yeah. I just thought you might be kinda tired of strange dudes letting themselves into your apartment.”

Derek just shrugs, reaching around Stiles to unlock his apartment. To Stiles’ surprise, he gestures for him to enter first. “You’d be surprised.” Derek replies, finally. He sets his tote down near the couch.  
“I’ll be right back, I gotta change. I probably smell awful.”  
He didn’t  
Stiles just nods, a fake grin spread over his face. God, he might actually be more fucked than he’d originally planned for.  
Taking this alone time to snoop, Stiles finds nothing of value stashed away in this front room. The drawer in the coffee table just has a few copies of old pop culture magazines. His bookshelf hosts old, stuffy volumes that must only be there for looks. They’re bound anonymously, the spines totally bare, and Stiles can’t imagine why anyone would do that besides for aesthetic reasons. Derek’s kitchen is sad. Various appliances look virtually unused and there isn’t a single dish in the sink. The trash can, however, is piled full with take out containers and discarded napkins. How could this dude be a dance instructor if he eats so terribly? Maybe Stiles should have made him a smoothie.

When Derek returns, Stiles appreciates the distinctly less revealing outfit that makes it significantly easier to think.  
He clears his throat.  
“Um, so I made you cookies as an apology for being a forgetful and rude drunk. If it makes you feel any better, I ended up walking in on Scott with his bed partners so now I am officially scarred.”

Derek’s lips quirk into a sarcastic smile. “So that’s who have been sneaking in and out of his apartment. They keep trying to be subtle but leaving an hour apart from one another does not negate the fact that neither is wearing their own clothes.”  
He takes the bag from Stiles, unfolding it gently - he huffs at the ribbon - and pulls out a chocolate chip. “I haven’t had homemade cookies in _years_.” Derek says quietly before biting down.  
His eyes blow wide.  
“Oh my god.”  
Proud, Stiles puffs his chest out, grinning ear to ear. “Yep.” He agrees, reading into the bag to pull out the snickerdoodle (his favorite). “It’s a simple recipe but it’s totally the bomb. It all boils down to the order in which you mix the ingredients and for how long and how hard you mix the batter.” He grins as he bites into the cookie, savoring the taste of his own food.  
“How did you learn to bake like this?” Derek asks, hoarfing down his cookie and shoving a second in his mouth. Stiles winces.  
“Culinary school.” Stiles responds easily, finishing his cookie delicately. Derek perks ups immediately with interest. “You’re a cook?”  
Stiles nods. “Sous chef. At the vegan restaurant downtown.”  
“You’re vegan?” Derek looks fascinated as he gestures for them to sit down on the couch.  
Scrunching up his nose, Stiles shakes his head. “God, no. I’m not even vegetarian. My dad has health issues so I started cooking for him. I had to get creative in order to keep him eating my food and not like, locking me in the basement and going out to get McDonalds or something. I got really good at it, I guess.”  
Derek finishes his second cookie and goes in for a third, slowing down his eating.

They talk for almost an hour. Stiles learned that Derek worked at the dance studio down the street, that he focused on ballet and tango, but has been known to teach hip hop and breakdancing on occasion. Stiles has to tune out most of this part or he’d start thinking up ridiculous and inappropriate scenarios where the outline of Derek’s asscheeks were defined so well in those ballet tights. Fuck. Stiles talked about Scott and their brotherhood. Derek talked about his friends at the studio.  
Eventually Stiles gets up and lies about going to work because he honestly can’t stand another minute of Derek listening to him intently with that fully focused and interested expression on his face. Who even does that?

Stiles retreats to Scott’s apartment.

“Told you.” Scott says with a mocking sneer. “The dude’s a fucking sweetheart.”  
Stiles just shakes his head. “I can never see him again. I might like, accidentally propose to him or something.”  
Scott eyes him. “Stiles, we’ve talked about this.”  
“This isn’t like Lydia. Also, I’ve learned from that, okay? Also, I was a kid. I’m twenty six now. I think I can handle an adult relationship, thanks.”  
Scott clucks his tongue.  
“Avoiding a guy because you like him is not how you handle an adult relationship.”

They’ve had this argument before. Stiles has a an unhealthy habit of letting his low self-esteem get in the way and instead resorting to minor stalking and pining. Scott has been trying to coach Stiles into actually interacting with people he’s interested in. He’s had a few relationships because of this, but they all end up going south due to Stiles’ inability to trust his partners. He doesn’t want that to happen with Derek.

“Just… can you go for it?” Scott begs, holding onto Stiles’ shoulders so that he has to look Scott in the eyes.

Stiles can’t resist those eyes.

He ends up hanging a post-it note with his name and number on Derek’s door on his way out.

Hey, it’s better than he’s been in the past!

Stiles doesn’t see or hear from Derek again for weeks. No one’s texted him, no one’s called, he hasn’t see Derek on his way to and from Scott’s apartment during his few visits. He gets to this point, mentally, where he just kinda gives up. He’s okay with that, it wasn’t like he was emotionally invested in Derek or anything.

He decides to get drunk.

Now, Stiles isn’t gay, but he _loves_ going to gay bars. Gay guys in gay bars tend to be into having random and anonymous sex with pretty much anyone and that serves Stiles really well. He hates that he stereotypes the patrons of The Jungle, but each and every single time he’s gone he’s gotten laid.

He’s there in a plain but flattering outfit that Danny helped him pick once, so he knows it’s 100% Gay Approved. He’s sipping on a fruity drink that he loves but never remembers the name of and he’s pleasantly buzzed, the dark room with the contrast of the bright, colored lights swinging all around the place is making him dizzy, but in a good way. It puts him off balance.

Scanning the room isn’t exactly going well. Most guys are already distracted with some other twink slut, but one altercation catches his attention.

“Please leave me alone. I’m not interested.”

The voice is young, not fitting the body it belongs to, but is still pleasant and Stiles is drawn to where Derek is sitting down the bar from him, hands out in front of him and a rather aggressive butch dude is leering at him. “C’mon, I’ll blow ya in the stalls.”  
“No thanks, man. I just want to sit and drink.”

Derek looks desperate and uncomfortable and Stiles acts on impulse and the cloudy feeling the booze gives him.

“Hey babe.” He says loudly as he wraps his arm around Derek’s shoulders. There’s a height difference from his stance on the floor and Derek’s perch on the barstool, but it gets the point across. Derek jumps and eyes Stiles for a moment before recognition and relief cross his face. “Hey.” He responds warily, grinning. The douche splutters for a moment before backing off, muttering something about _fucking twinks_.

“Funny seeing you here.” Derek says once they’ve both confirmed the asshole is out of hearing distance. Stiles hops up on the barstool next to Derek’s swirling his brightly colored drink around in its glass. “I could say the same for you.” Stiles responded, not really sure where this flirtatiousness is coming from.  
Derek just laughs. “I don’t come here that often. I don’t really drink, but I love the dancing.”  
Of fucking course.  
Stiles takes a long gulp from his drink.  
“You don’t drink?”  
“I don’t _really_ drink.” Derek lifts the tumbler that holds ice and some dark liquid. “But sometimes I indulge.”  
And of _fucking_ course he drinks rum and cokes.

“You like the dancing? It doesn’t offend your professional ballet sensibilities?” Stiles is surprised by the deep, throaty laugh. “No in the slightest. Want me to show you?”  
Oh shit, and that’s definitely a come on.  
Stiles’ throat is dry and it clicks when he swallows. He just nods.

Derek pulls him onto the dance floor and it’s pretty fucking incredible. He starts moving and the crowd just _parts_ for him. He has a bubble and a few people have stopped to stare at his body as it snakes it’s way around Stiles who is stuck. He can’t really dance anyway, much less around this _creature_.

Stiles ends up awkwardly twisting and shaking like he usually does, but Derek grins at him and holds onto his hips and shakes in rhythm, face close. Stiles can feel his heart thumping in his throat and ears and behind his eyes.  
This can’t be happening.

Their foreheads connect and Derek is staring at him, eye to eye. They slowly start to move off the dancefloor and back towards the bar. Except Derek doesn’t really stop there, he just collects his credit card then looks expectantly at Stiles until he does the same.

The cab ride is intense with Derek’s hand on his thigh, occasionally leaning over to kiss along Stiles’ jaw or along his collarbones. It’s silent, but Stiles is sort of thankful for that. He doesn’t really want to talk about this. He’s happy to just let it happen.

Climbing up the stairs to the second floor with Derek and Scott’s apartments is exciting and they chase each other like children, grinning and laughing all the way up to apartment number four. Derek has Stiles pressed against the door, one hand under his shirt, teasing along his waistband and the other fumbling to open the door.  
“How did you do this so quietly?” He hissed against Stiles’ neck. It shocked a snort of laughter from Stiles, just in time for them to both stumble through the threshold, eagerly grasping at one another.

It was a surprisingly short amount of time before they were both down to their underwear in Derek’s bed, kissing and grinding and Stiles isn’t as drunk as he thought he should be for this in order to blame it on the alcohol the next morning. He doesn’t want to be responsible for his actions tonight. He wants to be able to have a quick out or else things might get messy.  
Derek doesn’t seem that drunk either, though, if his quick and deft movements have anything to say about it.

He’s also _ripped._

Stiles never got a good look those weeks ago, but now that he had a chance to ogle, it was clear the dude was a dancer. His muscles were lean but defined and every time he moved his skin rippled. He’s sort of beautiful.

Stiles spends an enormous amount of time mouthing the expanse of Derek’s torso.

They end up blowing each other. It’s sort of magical, the lights dim but not off so that it reflects off of the glistening of their sweaty skin. Their panting and moaning sound harmonious in the still silence of the apartment, only the crickets song and sound of cars rushing by joining their voices.

Stiles falls asleep under Derek’s cozy comforter, sprawled across the man’s body, one of Derek’s arms wrapping protectively around his middle.

This time Stiles is not violently woken from his sleep. The smell of coffee and the sound of a microwave going off paired with the coolness of an empty bed stir Stiles awake. He blinks away confusion and a headache that lied behind his eyes and takes in his surroundings. It takes him a moment to realize what exactly happened.

“Holy shit.” He breathes, clutching the comforter around him. “Holy _fucking_ shit.”

He slept with Derek Hale last night. Like, literally, and also he had sex with him.

He slipped out of the bed quietly, gathering up his clothes from the floor and trying to swallow down a panic attack as he slipped them on carefully.

He found Derek in his kitchen.

“Good morning.” He greeted excitedly, pouring coffee into two mugs and pulling out a plate of what looked like bacon from the microwave (Stiles _shivered_ from the blasphemy of it) and arranging it on plates with toast.

“Morning.” Stiles answered, voice flat. He’s unable to look away from the food on the kitchen counter, the panic curling up in his chest again. “What is that?”  
Derek tipped his head from side to side. “Breakfast. The best I could do with what I had, at least. I’m not sure how ready your stomach is for it--”  
“I have to… go. I gotta go.”

There was something that sat heavy at the bottom of Stiles stomach, the carefully made breakfast only giving the thing weight.

Stiles is reckless. He’s mean and sarcastic and not very good at being faithful and he’s got this thing with commitment where he just _can’t do it._ He ruins people’s lives. He knows that. He’s done it enough times before.

Before Derek can say anything, Stiles is out and is knocking frantically at Scott’s door.

When Scott opens, he bursts in, closing the thing hurriedly behind him.

“Stiles, what did you do?” Scott asks warningly, crossing his arms over his bathrobe. It’s hard to take him seriously with his bedhead and bags under his eyes.

“I kind of slept with Derek.”

Scott’s scowl transforms into a grin, punching Stiles’ arm playfully. “Good! You were totally into him! I’m proud of you, man!”  
The grin slowly melts back into a frown when Stiles starts shaking his head back and forth, eyes wide and chest heaving.

Scott helps him through a panic attack as someone desperately knocks at Derek’s door.

They end up in Scott’s room with cups of coffee and store bought cookies that make Stiles feel like he needs to repent.

“So, your problem is that you decided that you’re not worthy of him?” Scott asks, effectively summarizing their fifteen minute discussion down to a sentence.  
Stiles shrugs.  
“It’s sort of true? You know what happens when I get involved with people, Scott. Especially good people.”  
Scott shakes his head, pressing a finger to his temple. “No, Stiles. I know what happens when you get yourself worked up about someone you perceive as being better than you. This. This is what happens. You abandon experiences that could potentially be some of the best of your life simply because you don’t think you’re… what? Worth it? That’s bullshit and you know it.”

Stiles hides his face behind his coffee mug, eyes glassy.

“Stiles, you can’t choose these things for people. If Derek decides that you’re not for him then fuck him, but also that’s his choice. You can’t make that choice for people. That’s up to them. You don’t know him. You blew him and you talked to him like, twice. You don’t know what he wants. He could just want you.”

“That’s corny as hell, Scott.”

“Shut up.” The venom behind the words were well-meaning, but they snapped Stiles back to a place where he could actually take things seriously.

“If you seriously feel like you can’t do this with him then fine. But if you want this at all, with any inkling of your being then you need to go for it. You can’t spend your life with shitty one night stands, pining after people you can clearly be involved with. It sucks watching you do this to yourself. You’re so worth it.”

Stiles opts to spend the day crashed out on Scott’s couch, letting Scott play with his hair while they watch reruns of Kitchen Nightmares. He goes to work that night with things to think about and nearly cuts off his finger chopping garlic.

He spends a week thinking and actively avoiding places where he knows Derek might be. He works and he cooks and he thinks and that’s how he ends up sitting in his Jeep in front of _Canis Studio_. He has a tupperware container of vegan mac ‘n’ cheese and another bag of cookies clutched in trembling hands.

It took a whole week to convince himself that he’s worth trying this. That Derek is sweet and nice and also he convinced himself that approaching Derek in his place of work might be enough to deter him. Seeing Derek with fit hotties, pressing up against them to help correct their stance will be enough to keep him from doing this stupid, stupid thing.

He took a few deep breaths before getting out of his car and walking through the front doors.

Inside, the walls were decorated colorfully with a pretty mural of dipping mountains covered in flowers. A blond girl is standing behind the front counter looking bored as she flips through a magazine.

“Um, hello?” Stiles tries, fingers flexing instinctually against the container. The girl looks up, eyebrows raised. “Hey!” She greets, a grin spreading over her lips as she glances up and down Stiles’ form unabashedly. “What can I do you for?”  
Stiles takes in a deep breath, his knuckles going white. “I was, uh, wondering where Derek Hale was?” His voice goes embarrassingly high and the girl just smiles at him. “He’s teaching a class right now but he’s almost done. You can go back and watch, if you want.”  
Stiles nods, swallowing thickly as he begins walking towards the back.  
“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to be Stiles, would you?” She asked, smile growing wicked. Stiles looks confused for a second before nodding.  
“Oh-ho boy.” She chuckles and waves him on, turning back to her magazine with this look on her face.

Stiles walks past room after room framed with huge windows leading out to the hallway. He could see each class getting taught and notices that each one has rather… young clientele. There are older women standing outside the windows watching the classes, clutching bags and coats and looking nervous and excited and occasionally cheering.

It occurs to Stiles that he might be wholly unprepared to witness Derek Hale coaching toddlers on ballet.

He stops at a window where the moms appear to be slightly more enthusiastic about what’s going on inside. He can’t help the involuntary smile when he notices Derek in soft ballet slippers, tight pants and a loose t-shirt walking amongst a group of what appear to be seven to ten year olds, his movements flowing easily and fluidly as he gently corrects foot or arm placement with a gentle, warm smile.

Stiles’ heart clenches and his stomach flips a few times.

Yeah, he was definitely not prepared for this.

He notices the mothers muttering to themselves, their eyes training on Derek and not their kids, blushes high on their cheeks. Stiles isn’t sure how he feels about the women blatantly ogling the object of his affections, but hey. It probably gets him a lot of business.

Derek starts to wrap up class and ends with a quick set of “positions”, coaching the kids through the first, second, third, fourth and fifth position, his own movements exact and flawless. The kids watch him in awe.

When class finally lets out, he accepts a few hugs, ruffling a few heads of hair before he’s bombarded with mothers gushing over his care and skill. He waves them off, obviously uncomfortable. His roaming gaze finally catches on Stiles watching from behind the glass and his face falls, confusion drawing his brows together.

He finishes his goodbyes, waving to the kids as they shuffle along with their mothers and Stiles slips inside the classroom, shoulders hunched and face scrunched up in anxiety.

“Hey.” He greets, unable to look Derek in the eye.

“Hey.” Derek replies and Stiles hears a deep sigh.

“What do you want?” He asks after Stiles doesn’t speak for a few beats.

Finally, Stiles looks up, meeting Derek’s tired expression.

“Um, I wanted to give you these. It’s, uh, vegan mac ‘n’ cheese and bunch of chocolate chip cookies. Not the best mix, I know, but you might as well have something substantial to eat once in a while. You can’t live off of take out and microwaves forever.”

A small smile pulls at Derek’s lips as he takes the food, pulling a cookie out of the bag and chomping down on it unceremoniously.

“Thanks.”

Stiles nods slowly, hugging his arms around himself, gearing up for his speech.

“So, um, I want to start off by saying that I’m, like, _super_ sorry. What happened the other morning, that was completely my fault. I have this thing where I get skittish when people show me affection and I wanna keep myself from, like, ruining people’s lives which means I basically just totally sever myself from them any way I can which is totally unfair and not my call to make but it’s just--”  
“It’s fine.” Derek interrupts, this unreadable look contorting his face. “It’s okay. I had that problem for… a really long time. I couldn’t ever trust people, romantically I mean. I would cut myself off from people before anything real could be made and I just recently stopped doing that. I thought that you might be a really good chance to try not to do that anymore.”  
“Oh.” Stiles replies uselessly, eyes bouncing from one thing to the other. “And I kinda ruined that, didn’t I?”  
Derek chuckled. “I mean, you did, but you’re sort of fixing it now.”  
“And you’re not mad at me? If it were me, I’d be furious that someone left me without an explanation like that.”

Derek laughs and shuffles closer (except it’s more like he floats closer, full of grace) “I was, and I still kind of am, but I’m not really interested in holding grudges right now, especially when I like you a lot and you made me vegan mac ‘n’ cheese and cookies. You seem like you’re worth it to at least try.”

Stiles breathes in quickly, swallowing down the doubt and the nagging self hatred that’s telling him he’s going to fuck it up. He steps forward and hugs Derek tightly, face buried in the man’s shoulder as Derek hugs him back as best he can with a bag of cookies and a tupperware container in his hands. “Thanks. I think you’re worth a try, too.” Stiles replies, finally, pulling away. “And I want to make it up to you by cooking you dinner. Tonight. If you’re free?”  
Derek grins, pressing his forehead to Stiles’s. “For your cooking, I am.”  
Stiles laughs. “Buddy, you haven’t tasted my cooking yet. I’m about to blow your mind.”  
“You already kind of are.”  
To keep him from saying anything else totally embarrassing and tacky, Stiles kisses Derek, arms still wrapped around his neck.

That night Stiles cooks lasagna and Derek tastes like it when they make out on his couch later that night with Top Chef playing quietly in the background. If this is what taking a chance looks like, Stiles decides that sometimes it might be worth it.


End file.
